


Unbroken Things

by hannibalnuxvoxmica



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Hannibal Loves Will, Intimacy, M/M, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Will Loves Hannibal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-28 09:46:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8440867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannibalnuxvoxmica/pseuds/hannibalnuxvoxmica
Summary: He regards then the man sleeping next to him with reverence. The calm beat of his heart. The slow rise of his chest.


  This is never something he would have asked for.


  If Will hadn’t wanted this, if instead he had considered it, deciding finally that this new level of intimacy between them, this renegotiation of wants and boundaries was something he neither needed nor desired, Hannibal would have it accepted it graciously. He would have found some way to dim his hungering thoughts, and moreover forgive the intrusion when one or two slipped by.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [Magical_Destiny](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Magical_Destiny/pseuds/Magical_Destiny) for being my beta and helping me iron out the wrinkles :D
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Hannibal lets his eyes adjust to the dimness of the room. Close beside him, Will sleeps, rolled on his side with the duvet pulled up to his chin. His hand rests on the pillow next to his face, and lightly his fingers curl into it, wrinkling its cover. There is a part to his lips, just barely, and a flutter behind his eyelids.

His skin is warm to the touch, his cheeks are rosy with sleep. Not quite the exaggerated pink he flushes with when Hannibal surprises him with a kiss, or when he lets his eyes linger for a bit longer than necessary on him (although necessary _is_ debatable), and not quite the scarlet hue he glows in the throes of arousal, his crimson skin stretched taut over the ache and heave of his muscles, but instead a dusting like sand, the color of the stained sky at sunset brushed lightly across his face.

Will’s hair is spilled messily around his head, pouring onto the pillow. It grows exceedingly fast, already nearing a length that Will would describe as 'shaggy'.

_I could use a cut,” Will says, looking at himself in the still-steamy mirror. His hair hangs even longer when it’s wet._

_Hannibal looks him over and hums._

_“I like it.”_

_“You do?”_

_Hannibal gives a nod. “I do.”_

_Will turns to him. “Are you typically fond of the scruffy, homeless look?”_

_Hannibal grins. “It isn’t without its charms, though I would classify this as more of an ‘outdoorsman-who-doesn’t-own-a-pair-of-clippers’ look rather than a homeless look.”_

_Will smiles at him coquettishly. “And are you usually fond of outdoorsmen?”_

_“Hmm, that depends…” Hannibal feigns consideration, “I do have a tendency to be smitten with a particular type of outdoorsman, so long as they are followed by a large and ever-growing number of dogs.”_

_“That’s a very specific taste to have, Doctor Lecter,” the words roll off his tongue playfully, “I wonder where that stems from?” Will turns so he’s facing Hannibal, their bodies aligned._

_“Hard to say. Ideals of beauty are often crafted in childhood, but that isn’t to say that adulthood impressions and feelings of affection don’t play a role.”_

_Will steps forward, crossing the distance between them. He tilts his head just a bit. “Well then, lucky you.”_

_Hannibal leans in, brushing his lips across Will’s._

_“Lucky me.”_

Will stirs, stretching out his limbs almost fussily. His brow is knit together in what looks like vague annoyance, and Hannibal wonders what it is he’s dreaming about (and wonders, with amusement, if he is at all involved). Though dreaming is still inescapable for him, these days his subconscious mind is more subdued, less tyrannical.

The pervading fear throughout Will’s life has been that he is _not_ in control of his mind. That the colors and music found there like oceans and seas were not his to command. That he was ultimately a powerless bystander to their whim, their ebb and flow. Now, there is a balance between his empathy, his subconscious, and his impulses. And how wrong he was before not to see the beauty that lies within him.

Just outside, the sun has begun its slow ascent. What sunlight there is pours in through the part in the curtains, coloring the room. Hannibal brushes a lock of hair out of Will’s eyes.

It wasn’t all that long ago that Hannibal slept alone, silently anguishing when all he felt next to him was an absence. They ate together. Drank together. Breathed the same air. They shared sunrises and sunsets, the splashes of gold and red that stained the surrounding sky.

They traveled distances both long and short, both easy and arduous, and when it came time to pack their things and leave, they did so.

Together.

Their hearts beat in alliance with each other’s and for the same unified purpose. So why was it that when Hannibal woke he mourned the empty space beside him like an amputated limb? Why was Will with him everywhere, with him _finally_ , but not with him here?

It was an ache that he had yet to experience before then. A loss so unwieldy he had trouble grasping it. He had never had a need for intimacy before. He wasn’t certain he had a need for it now, only a hunger for it that gripped his entire being. That made a home inside him, intrusive and inconvenient, making its presence known in every moment where Will stood just in reach, yet so unreachable.

He regards then the man sleeping next to him with reverence. The calm beat of his heart. The slow rise of his chest.

This is never something he would have asked for.

If Will hadn’t wanted this, if instead he had considered it, deciding finally that this new level of intimacy between them, this renegotiation of wants and boundaries was something he neither needed nor desired, Hannibal would have it accepted it graciously. He would have found some way to dim his hungering thoughts, and moreover forgive the intrusion when one or two slipped by.

Hannibal rests his face against Will’s hair, closing his eyes as he breathes in.

Soon, Will will wake. He will drink the coffee that Hannibal brings him, and after he’ll want to shower while Hannibal prepares breakfast. He will walk their dogs (an ever-increasing number, indeed), the invitation for Hannibal to join him a given.

There has yet to come a time that Hannibal has refused.

They may wander into town, look around at the shops or perhaps buy something at the market. If the mood and creative surge strikes, Hannibal may go off in search of specific ingredients, Will following in tow, so he can craft something unique for supper or dessert. The time when it was a risk they took to be in public for very long has come and passed long ago, and they may spend all day hopping from market to café if they simply choose to ignore the clock for a little while longer.

They will drink in the evening and light the fire for warmth, using the freshly cut logs that Will chopped himself, the kind of labor intensive work that he enjoys readily and that Hannibal, if he were honest, only enjoys to watch.

They will talk and fill their bellies with food, and when sleep nags at them they will adjourn to bed together, one of them curled around the other.

But for now, the sun has barely begun its ascent, and Will is still lost in sleep.

Somewhat painfully, and not without his limbs mourning the loss of touch, Hannibal gently removes himself from Will and gets out of bed. He retrieves his pajama bottoms and a sweater from the closet, donning them and ignoring the piles of clothes on the floor as he leaves, strewn like breadcrumbs through the room and out the door.

Once there, Hannibal flicks on the low light in the kitchen. It is much smaller than the one he had in Baltimore, but it doesn’t bother him. A kitchen like that he wouldn’t have any good way to put to use anymore. Extravagant dinners thrown to bemuse the hoi polloi are a thing of the past, as is his need for a kitchen so large and well equipped it can accommodate an entire team of chefs.

Hannibal prepares the coffee- black, with a sprinkling of his own blend of spices that he tweaked to fit Will’s preferences.

_“You still try, don’t you?” Will asks._

_Hannibal looks up from the cutting board._

_“Try what?”_

_“Try to impress with all of this, even though it’s only me.”_

_“I hardly think of your companionship as ‘only’ you.”_

_“You know what I mean.”_

_Hannibal considers for a moment. “It is an art form, one I was raised with and have devoted much of my life to. Evolving and perfecting, but there is always more to learn... The feast is life, and one should have respect for it.”_

_Will listens and digests this. He nods almost imperceptibly and then falls silent. Only after several moments have passed does he look up again, a smile blooming slyly on his face._

_“Though_ _also because you’re trying to impress me, right?”_

_Hannibal smiles without trying to as a warmth floods in his cheeks._

_“Also that.”_

Hannibal carries both mugs into the bedroom, and as if on cue Will begins to wake. His eyes open lazily at first as he shifts under the duvet. When he catches a glimpse of Hannibal standing beside him, he rubs his eyes and sits up.

“Good morning,” Hannibal offers him the mug and Will takes it, sipping on it. The duvet falls into Will’s lap as he pushes himself upright, exposing his bare torso. He leans against the bed frame, still not entirely awake.

_Will rolls off of Hannibal, kissing him still, trailing down his neck and to his shoulder. Hannibal postures himself, letting his heart calm and his muscles re-constitute themselves into something more solid._

_Will is confident in this. More self-assured giving pleasure than receiving. More comfortable. Hannibal turns and seeks Will’s mouth with his own, kissing him and melting a little more when Will moans into it._

_Hannibal runs his fingertips down Will’s torso, feeling the flutter of his muscles beneath his touch. The way he tenses more and more as his hand trails lower, the way his chest lifts higher and heavier. Ignoring the temptation to tease him further, to linger at the crook of his hipbone before touching him, to run his fingers along the inside of his thigh, brushing once or twice against him and savoring the needy, desperate gasps it would draw from him, Hannibal takes him in his hand and begins to stroke him._

_Will lets out a long moan, his head falling into the crook of Hannibal’s neck._

_As much as Hannibal knows of Will’s mind, of his thoughts and his feelings, and even the things Will keeps hidden from himself, there are corners that Hannibal is unaware of even still. Thoughts that pass by unbeknownst to him._

_Little things that slip by unknown, like the fact that while Will is clinging to him, his mind stuttering and tripping over itself, trying to hold onto some level of higher thought and inevitably failing as he melts further into Hannibal’s arms, somewhere along the edge of his murky consciousness he knows that only Hannibal could do this to him and make it feel like love._

_Unaware that then Will challenges himself, an argument not spoken but felt, that maybe this feeling of bliss and affection that floods the depths of him is that indeterminate, shapeless thing that has alluded him all his life and that now, finally, has glanced upon him in acknowledgement. Perched on his shoulder at last._

_Will cries out, spilling hot into Hannibal’s hand as waves of ecstasy crash over him. He surfaces, exhausted, and finds himself in Hannibal’s embrace, peppered with kisses along the side of his face while Hannibal murmurs desperately fond things to him in a language he does not speak. Will curls into him, a sigh escaping him in relief._

_Feathered and untamable, indifferent to legions and legends alike, and of all people it came to_ him _._

Will opens his eyes.

Hannibal is gazing at him, warmly and inquiringly, sat beside him on the bed. He must have not noticed the shift of the mattress caused by Hannibal’s weight, given the look he gives him.

Surprise.

Tremendous, rejoiceful surprise.

“Good morning.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Let me know what you thought in the comments :D
> 
> [Hang out with me on tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/hannibalnuxvomica)


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